How Commander Tucker Screws Up Away Missions
by Stargazing BasketCase
Summary: Trip is a trouble magnet. And here are just some of the consequences…


Title: **How Commander Tucker Screws Up Away Missions**

Rating: T

Summary: Trip is a trouble magnet. And here are just some of the consequences…

Disclaimer: I don't own. Paramount does. Bugger.

This is my spin-off fic from my epic list _"Things Not To Do On the NX-01"_, inspired by my own daftness and **I am No Dartboard**. This is going to be a series of ficlets and drabbles, each based on rules in _"Things…" _which involve Trippy-boy messing up an away mission… Brace yourself for silliness, from the twisted mind of Stargazing BasketCase!

R&R is love, and enjoy!

How Commander Tucker Screws Up Away Missions

**52. Leave the local flora alone. Ask Commander Tucker why. **

"_Things Not To Do On the NX-01", Part Three_

Trip Tucker whistled, rather tunelessly, as he kicked and hacked his way through the dense undergrowth, Malcolm Reed and an over-eager science team in tow. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to get assigned to this away mission – he was an _engineer_, not a botanist.

And, as yet another thorny bramble slapped him in the face, he began to curse the name of Jonathan Archer.

Presently, scratched and sweaty, he stumbled into a clearing in the dense foliage, sunlight streaming down from between the tangled branches overhead. The engineer rubbed his forehead, cracked his back, and turned to Reed and their brood of scientists. "Will this do?" he asked, silently begging for the answer to be in the affirmative.

Malcolm smirked and toyed with the handle of his phase pistol. Trip glared at him, before turning his baby-blues on the lead scientist – Lieutenant Elspeth Harris, if he recalled correctly. _Please say yes, please say yes, _he pleaded – he wanted a break. Desperately wanted a break.

Elspeth, apparently oblivious to the Chief Engineer's predicament, looked around speculatively and nodded. "Yes, this should do nicely," she stated, her voice lightly tinged with a Scottish brogue.

Trip winced internally as said Scottish accent brought to mind the shenanigans of a certain Scottish crewman… _No! Don't go there! _he told himself. _Go talk to Malcolm! _

So he did, and they rapidly struck up a heated discussion on the topic of James Bond versus Indiana Jones, Malcolm gunning for Bond, Trip for Indy. The science team happily got on with their work, murmuring among themselves about pollens and soil samples, ignoring their commanding officers' loud (and pointless) debate.

After a while, Trip and Malcolm got bored, after going over the same points, without pause, for about forty-five minutes. "I hate babysittin'," Trip mumbled to Malcolm, careful not to let the botanists (who were currently clustered around a green pointy thing in the ground, getting rather excited) hear him.

"Hmmm," Malcolm agreed noncommittally. He tugged at the collar of his uniform. "It's a tad humid down here too."

"Travis is a lucky sod," Trip muttered. "_He _gets to stay in the nice, air-conditioned shuttlepod. With food. And water." He cast a glance at their brood. "And no scientists…"

Malcolm smirked. "But he doesn't get the _wonders _of your _scintillating _company."

"Hmmm," Trip agreed. "That's not so good. Poor Travis."

Reed shook his head, smiling.

Trip bent down, inspecting a particularly lurid patch of flowers – vivid violet, fluorescent orange and neon pink. "Mother Nature sure likes bright colours," he mused to Malcolm. "At least, she does on _this _planet."

Malcolm crouched down beside his friend. "You're quite correct Commander." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I prefer more _subtle _tones myself."

"Like…" Trip bit his lip, trying not to smirk. "Like tint o' Hoshi?"

The Tactical Officer flushed pink from hairline to collar and mumbled something inaudible.

Trip turned back to the clashing flora, smirking contentedly. _Mother-hen bunch o' scientists… check, _he thought. _Embarrass Malcolm… check. Shapin' up to be quite a good day…_

He leaned forward to get a good sniff of the flowers in front of him.

And sneezed.

Clouds of obscenely bright, multi-hued pollen ballooned up from the flowers in front of him. Malcolm leaped back with a cry (something along the lines of "My allergies!" My beautiful allergies!"), but Trip's head was completely enveloped in the headache-inducing cloud.

The scientists got in a bit of a flap at the other side of the clearing too.

Trip finally managed to stumble out of the cloud of pollen, coughing and sucking on one hand. "Damn plant bit me!" he exclaimed, waving the reddening weal on his hand for all to see.

Malcolm clapped one hand over his mouth. The botanists tittered in shock.

Trip, still rubbing his hand, frowned at them. "What?"

Malcolm's shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter, and the botanists were now in full-fledged hysterics.

"_What?_"

Lieutenant Harris dug in her holdall, still giggling, and dug out a mirror. Elspeth handed it to Trip without another word, a grin etched on her features.

"What?" Trip asked one last time, before catching sight of himself in the mirror.

He started.

He stared.

He started again.

"_What the—?!" _

Vivid violet nose. Fluorescent orange ears. Neon pink hair.

Trip scrubbed frantically at his nose with the sleeve of his jumpsuit. And then his ears. And then his hair.

And nothing happened.

He groaned, still staring incredulously into the mirror, and Malcolm gave up on trying to hold in the chuckles and burst out laughing. Trip gazed at himself forlornly as the Brit clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Only you, my friend," Malcolm commiserated, voice shaking with laughter. "Only you."

Trip groaned, handed the mirror back to Elspeth, and buried his multi-coloured face in his hands.


End file.
